


Step

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Again lol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet Dancer!Hilda, F/F, Love Confessions, Marihilda Week (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Marianne cries when she watches Hilda dance.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Step

**Author's Note:**

> MariHilda Week Day 6: Dance/Confessions/Tears

Manuela had scolded Hilda more than a few times for “breaking the fourth wall” during a performance, so to speak. It was difficult not to do ever since Marianne started sitting in the front. At first, Marianne always sat in the back, where Hilda couldn’t see her, but Hilda convinced her to sit closer every time she came to see a show, until Marianne was center stage, only a few rows away from the front. Hilda was excited when Marianne sheepishly showed her the seat on her ticket, but nervous at the same time. Marianne had seen her dance close-up before, but it was nothing like when she was on stage. What would she think, Hilda thought. Would she suddenly come to find Hilda’s footwork clumsy instead of beautiful? Would Hilda trip and make a fool out of herself? Hilda rarely got stage fright—really, she hardly got worried about anything at all. But knowing that Marianne would be sitting so  _ close _ got to her.

Then, the first night Marianne sat in the front, Hilda saw her crying.

People cried at the ballet every now and then. Hilda had seen it. But Marianne, with her lips parted, her eyebrows furrowed in an almost tortured expression as tears rolled down her cheeks, was a sight that Hilda couldn’t ignore. When the lights went up, and Hilda got to look her in the eye, giving her a wink as she bowed...

Hilda felt something magical, there.

Marianne was always the first to give her flowers after a show, although Holst often tried to beat her to the punch. “That was beautiful, Hilda,” she would say. All bashful, like they weren’t best friends.

“Only because you were sitting closer to inspire me,” Hilda teased. And then Holst would be all over her, and the rest of her friends would be talking too loudly for Marianne to get another word in.

Hilda kept dancing, kept looking over at the tears streaming down Marianne’s face. She could never bring herself to ask why Marianne cried. She assumed it was just like everyone else—overtaken with emotion because of the performance. But Marianne couldn’t have been entranced by the performance, since her eyes only remained on Hilda the entire time...it was curious, surely, but Hilda didn’t bother asking. Marianne would likely just clam up and not say anything.

Hilda liked to think it was because Marianne found her beautiful. Maybe Marianne saw her dancing and swaying across the stage and saw something good—something that she wanted in a lover, something that she wanted in a lifelong partner. It was a little unrealistic, but Hilda liked to think that that was what was going through Marianne’s mind. That was what made her kept moving across the stage, keep dancing. The thought of Marianne loving her.

Marianne tried her hardest, but she couldn’t make every performance. Hilda felt a difference in herself, the way she moved when Marianne was there and when she wasn’t. Even in practice, she found herself dancing towards being on that stage and looking down to see Marianne’s eyes brimming with tears.

One day, Marianne told Hilda that she’d be sitting in the very front row, a first for her. Hilda decided to make something of it. Dance was the only thing she really worked hard at, and with Marianne on the line, the stakes were even higher. Throughout the week, she found herself distracted at rehearsals, thinking about her next performance, about Marianne sitting in the front row...thinking about what she planned to do there. 

Hilda was a bold person. It wasn’t difficult to do things that others may have considered improper, or brash. But when it came to Marianne, she tended to hold back, bottle up everything she was thinking. When Marianne was in the front row, though, crying because of Hilda’s performance, those bottled up feelings threatened to spill over, and Hilda wanted to let them.

She was fine through the first act. But during the intermission, while Hilda sipped water backstage, she found herself wondering what everybody would think, and more importantly, what Marianne would think. All eyes would be on her—she was the lead role, the one who stole everyone’s attention. She would be heard, and with what she was planning to say, there was no laughing it off.

_ Don’t think about it. Just dance. _

The second act began, and Hilda danced her heart out, hardly stopping to look at Marianne. When she did, she saw Marianne’s thumb between her teeth, her eyes going wet. Even as she saw Hilda dance the same steps, make the same wistful expressions, she still reacted like it was brand new. Well, she would be seeing something brand new soon.

As soon as Hilda stopped dancing, she glanced back at Marianne, making sure she was still there. She was, standing with everyone else and applauding, her face flushed. The first part was normal. Everyone comes together, holds hands, does a bow. Manuela goes to the mic to thank everyone for coming while Hilda and her castmates stand and look pretty. Then everyone claps one more time, and Manuela steps away from the mic...

Before people could start turning tail and walking out, Hilda rushed up to the microphone stand. She didn’t turn to look at Manuela, praying she wouldn’t get dragged away. “Um, excuse me,” Hilda shouted into the mic, a bit too loud. At least she got everyone’s attention. More importantly, she got Marianne’s. She felt a hand on her shoulder, probably Manuela’s, but...she had to keep going. She couldn’t lose nerve. “Uh...hi! I’m Hilda Valentine Goneril, and I have an announcement to make! This is...for Marianne.” Marianne was shell-shocked, her eyes going wide with shock and...fear? Of course she’d be afraid. She hated attention.  _ Maybe this was a horrible, terrible, awful idea. _ But Hilda  _ had _ to keep going. “I just wanted to say that...I see you crying during my performances. And I don’t know why you do! But I think...I think that you cry because you love me. And you love to see me dance. And I really, really hope that I’m right, because I love you too, and—”

“Hilda,” Manuela hissed, out of range of the microphone. Hilda had to turn around. In fact, she didn’t want to see Marianne’s reaction. “Off the stage.  _ Right _ now.”

“W-wait, can I just say—”

“No, you can’t! Off,” Manuela said. That time, it was loud enough for the mic to pick it up. Hilda turned and did the walk of shame to the curtains, with her shell-shocked castmates following after her.

* * *

It could have been worse. Hilda got a relatively tame but very whiny tongue-lashing from Manuela, and a lot of awkward stares from her fellow dancers, but she survived it. What was eating away at her was not knowing Marianne’s reaction, her response, her feelings.

By the time Hilda was released from her lecture (“trust me, sweetie, you’ll come to realize that even something like  _ that _ won’t keep ‘em from leaving...”), the crowd had cleared out, and she was left to walk back to her brother’s car on her own. 

Instead, Marianne’s car was parked in front of the theater.

She was standing outside of it, kicking at the gravel with her shoes. Hilda ran over, her feet sore and her heart pounding. “Marianne,” Hilda said. “You’re...still here!”

“Y-yeah. Holst said, um...he thought I should give you a ride home.”

“Did he? Um...wow.”

“Yeah.” Hilda and Marianne refused to make eye contact with one another. Usually Hilda looked at Marianne’s face every chance she got, but that time, both of them were determined to look away. Still looking off into the sky, Marianne said, “By the way, um...I...I only cry during your performances because, um...w-well, you just look really pretty.”

Of course. That’s it. Just a little starstruck. Hilda had never hated herself so much for getting carried away. “Thanks. Sorry, I kind of...went off on a—”

“But I guess it’s the same as you said, too,” Marianne finished. “Just looking at you...it makes me that happy. I can’t help it. Th-that’s why I usually sat in the back, because I didn’t want you to see me crying like that...I thought you’d think I was stupid. Or just weird.”

“No,” Hilda said, astonished. “I didn’t! I thought—well, I thought a lot of things. But I never thought you were stupid! Or weird! I just wanted you to see me. I wanted you to watch me dance, and I wanted you to like it. I wanted to impress you, because—I hate to say it again, because I know it’ll embarrass you, but I love you!”

Marianne went pink again. “It’s less embarrassing when it’s just us...”

_ Right. I confessed to her in front of a sold-out theater. Sorry, Marianne. _ “So, since it’s just us—well, um, it’s okay for you to...give me an answer, right?”

“Wh-what? I have to say it? Oh, gosh.”

“Or, don’t! That’s fine! If you don’t have an answer! I just—”

“I love you,” Marianne blurted out. Hilda finally exhaled, for what felt like the first time all night. Her adrenaline high, however, was reaching new peaks, just hearing those words. “And...I love seeing you dance. And I’m sorry if I keep crying at your shows.”

“It’s alright if you cry,” Hilda said. She leaned forward and took Marianne’s happy. Somehow, it was relieving that Marianne’s palms were as sweaty as hers. “Just as long as you sit in the front row, every time. Okay? Can you do that? Please? Front row. Every time.”

Marianne laughed. She really did cry easily. Hilda saw her eyes squint a bit, trying to stave off a fresh batch of tears. “Front row. Every time.”

**Author's Note:**

> imagine being manuela, going thru an endless string of breakups, and your little lesbian student just gets on stage and confesses her love to her recluse BFF and they start dating the same night


End file.
